


Birthday Girl

by twistedrunes



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mild Language, Sir Kink, agatha christie fangirling, allusions to sex, light BDSM themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 02:33:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16864534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedrunes/pseuds/twistedrunes
Summary: Tomorrow is your birthday, but today has been amazing. You've interviewed your hero and now on the long journey home, you think back over the events that have lead you here, which quickly brings one Mr Thomas Shelby OBE to mind. You're not in a relationship, hell you're not even sure you'd consider him a friend but you are fucking and if there was one thing you wanted for your birthday it was definitely a visit from the man himself.





	Birthday Girl

“Tickets. Ticket’s please.” The conductor calls walking down the corridor of the train. The train was unusually empty. The weather was horrendous. No sign of spring ever arriving, even two weeks out from Easter. The sleet sticking to the ground, gathering in little drifts which were quickly turned to dirty slush by anyone foolish enough to step outside.  

You had been foolish enough. Today you had interviewed Ms Agatha Christie. An honour you held so dearly God himself could not have prevented you from going. The train had been delayed by the weather on your way to the interview and was delayed again multiple times on the way home. But even the cold and late hour could not keep the smile from your face after meeting your hero.

You worked for the Manchester Guardian Weekly as a journalist. The editor had taken you on at the owner’s insistence. You were the only woman working on the paper.  So your editor had thought it appropriate that the lady journalist writes the article about the lady writer. You strongly suspected that he only let you do it because he thought that no-one would want to read about the lady writer and so it didn’t matter if the journalist was a lady too. Meaning he could keep all of his ‘real’ journalists in Manchester to cover ‘real’ news. But you didn’t care one jot, this was the opportunity of a lifetime; you had met one of your heroes.

The interview had been amazing. Ms Christie was as sharp, quick and funny as you had dreamed. Your notebook was literally full, you had filled it by the half-way point of the interview, despite being new at the beginning. Ms Christie had noticed you desperately trying to fit your shorthand into the margins and blank spaces of the used pages and had given you one of her own. You knew without a doubt you would treasure it forever. Ms Christie had also been kind enough to sign your copy of  _The Mysterious Affair at Styles_ another item you knew you would treasure forever. The interview had been scheduled for an hour but somehow had taken nearly two. So you had been forced to run to make the train.

As the train wound its way through the Peak District your mind began to wander towards thoughts of tomorrow. Your birthday. Not that anything too exciting would be happening. To be honest your meeting with Ms Christie and her signing your book felt like enough wishes granted. But part of you was hoping that the day would include a visit from Mister Thomas Shelby OBE. With a whole different set of wishes hoping to be answered in his presence. The pair of you had been, well you didn’t really know what it was you were, definitely not dating, but far from casual acquaintances. Fucking. That was what you had been, fucking. As often as possible. The last time you had seen each other he had mentioned in passing that he might be in Manchester on the eighth through to the tenth of March. You had simply nodded and hoped, not wanting to reveal it was your birthday. Not sure if that was something you could or even should think was important to Tommy. 

You had met when you had been sent to do background research for a story the Birmingham Times were running about The Grace Shelby Institute. When he had met you himself you had been flustered, not expecting anyone to meet with you at all. Let alone Mr Shelby himself. You had explained quickly that you were just doing the background and that someone else would meet with him later to do a proper interview. Mr Shelby had told you the story was important to him and so he would give you the tour and answer any questions you had. He had been a kind and generous host, showing you around the building, introducing you to the children, talking about why it was important to him that children stayed where they belonged. Briefly relating the story of how his Aunt’s children had been taken and one sent to Australia and the family’s subsequent sadness when they learnt she had died. You had stayed for three hours.

When you returned to the office the editor had been nearly apocalyptic. Furious because Mr Shelby had called and said it wouldn’t be necessary for the ‘other’ reporter to come out as you had done an excellent job and that he looked forward to approving your piece before it was published in the paper in the coming week. Mr Shelby had called you the next morning, offering to go over any follow-up questions you might have. He had sent a car to collect you. The car had taken you to his house. You had met with him in his office and run over the piece and asked your questions. Mr Shelby, or Tommy as he had asked you to call him had answered them all. When you finally packed your notebook away he suggested that you stay for dinner with him as it was getting late. You had accepted. After dinner and a number of whiskeys, he had suggested you stay the night. You had accepted that offer too.

Again the editor had been furious when Tommy had returned your draft piece a few days later with only one change. He had crossed out the name of the journalist the editor had assigned to the piece and replaced with your own. That was how you had your first piece published. Well, the first piece you wrote that was attributed to you. That was the piece which had drawn the attention of the new owner of the Manchester Guardian Weekly. A young woman, who had inherited it from her father, with a good education and particular political views which meant she was eager to see more women in the workplace.

So you had moved away from Birmingham to Manchester for an actual journalistic position rather than the tea lady come, ghostwriter, you were in Birmingham.  Tommy had congratulated you on the job and suggested the two of you might catch up if either of you ever had a reason to be in the others city. You hadn’t objected to that suggestion. In the time since you’d left, you’d both found yourselves with cause to visit the others city. Visits organised to require an overnight stay. The visits had been amazing; there was something about hotel sex that made both of you more willing to reveal the more sinful sides of yourselves. As if the supposed anonymity gave you the freedom to expose yourselves.

It had started innocently enough, you had been in bed, after your first round of fucking when you congratulated Tommy on his OBE. Rolling on your stomach you had linked your fingers under your chin batting your eyelashes as you joked that soon you would have to call him Sir. He had paused, cigarette hovering at his lips as his tongue skimmed between them. His eyes turning towards you as his tongue drew his bottom lip between his teeth.  The pressure of his teeth staining his lip white as he released it.

“Hm, Sir,” He said calmly as if considering it, crushing his cigarette in the ashtray. “No, I think you have far too much spirit for that.” He said smiling benignly as he rolled on his side, propped up on his elbow, head resting in his palm, his hair hanging through his fingers as his other hand caressed your ass. “Don’t you?” He said, slapping your ass with just enough force for it to sting. You had let out a noise somewhere between a moan and a gasp, immediately feeling the dynamic between the two of you shift.

Tommy’s hand remained on your ass, soothing it. His eyes held yours, challenging you silently. Your heart pounding, you found yourself wanting to resist to see what Tommy would do next.  “Well you can’t always get your own way,” You paused, licking your lips; devils in your head at war, debating whether to call him Tommy or Sir, wondering which would rile him most. “Tommy.” You decide.

A smirk had teased the corners of Tommy’s mouth as he trailed his fingers up your back, along your shoulder to your neck, before burying them forcefully in your hair fisting them as he pulled you towards him. “Oh, but I do.” He said, lips brushing your ear. His tone casual but his tenor deeper than you’ve ever heard it, the words reverberating through your body. He tugged on your hair, opening your neck to him. Sliding his tongue over the crook of your neck before sucking on it, hard, his teeth pressing into the flesh. Each thud of your heart causing the blood pooling there to throb.

“Yes, Sir.” The words fell from your lips before they entered your mind. Followed by a groan you were ashamed to hear come from your own body.

“Mm,” Tommy hummed thoughtfully against your neck before letting go of you and rolling onto his back, his hands resting on his chest as he looked up at the ceiling.

Your body immediately craved Tommy’s touch again. You shuffled closer bringing yourself to your hands and knees so you could kiss his stomach. Your hair fell around your face in a curtain, Tommy’s fingers lazily running through it. Feeling bold you had nipped at the flesh on his flank. His response was immediate, yanking your hair to pull you away from him. Your hand had flown to your head in surprise rather than actual pain. “No.” He had said sternly. You had nodded once before he released you. Unable to help yourself you immediately fell against him, sucking hard, on the exact same spot.

Tommy had sat up immediately, spinning so his feet were on the floor and grabbing your upper arms. He dragged you across him, so you were positioned for a spanking before you even knew what had happened. “What are you doing?” You had asked, breathless with excitement and your awareness of his rock hard dick pressing into your side.

“Disciplining you.” He had said his hand already roaming your ass.

You had snorted. “What do you know about discipline Tommy? You’ve never met a law you didn’t want to break.” You had challenged.

With that Tommy seemed to have changed his mind, bundling you up as he stood before tossing you back on the mattress. His body immediately above yours, pinning you in place. However, his physical presence over you was redundant as you couldn’t have moved if you tried. Eyes both fire and ice, pinned you like a startled fawn.  

“Discipline and the law have nothing to do with each other, pet.” He had brushed your hair away from your face. “The law is rules imposed by others, discipline is the rules we impose on ourselves.” He held your gaze, looking for an indication you understood. You nodded. “It’s why you’re here. You love that I don’t follow the rules. That I do what I want. Yes?” He asked rhetorically as he nodded in agreement with himself. “And it thrills you that I have the discipline to stay in control. That I could take you in hand. You want them both. The gangster and the disciplinarian. Don’t you?”

You had never felt so exposed in your life. He was saying things you would have never admitted to yourself. Your heart pounding in your chest, you had nodded, your hand rising to his chest.

He had kissed your cheek softly before taking your hand in his, collecting your other wrist he pinned both above your head. “See you’ve always been a law-abiding girl, a nice girl.” He mocked pressing butterfly kisses against your neck with each word, his dick grinding against your hip. “But what you want, what you need, is discipline.” He sucked hard on your collarbone, again you felt a bruise forming immediately.

“Yes.” You had moaned unable to stop the roll of your hips or the sigh from your mouth.

Tommy had grinned devilishly above you “Good. Once you agree to the rules breaking them will have immediate consequences. I will be judge, jury and executioner, there will be no trials, no defence.” He instructed.

You had nodded desperately, a shameful groan coming from you as you agreed.

“These rules will only be between us. You will learn that I will never punish you unfairly. But, only I can discipline you.” Tommy had insisted his hand had cupped your cheek as he spoke. When you had nodded he had kissed you gently.

 

“Miss?” An unfamiliar voice drags you from your memory.

“Pardon?” You gasped trying desperately trying to gain some composure, feeling exposed, your cheeks flushed and your pussy throbbing.

“You need to get off the train, Miss.” The conductor said patiently.

“Pardon?” You repeated idiotically.

“End of the line Miss. We’re in Manchester. Did you not hear the announcement?”

“Oh, sorry.” You say gathering your things rapidly.

“Nearly got locked up in here for the night.” The man jokes as you double check you have everything.

The conductor helps you down to the platform and glancing up and down the deserted platform, you realise you are obviously the last to depart. You glance at your watch 11:30pm you sigh a little knowing that if Tommy has called you have missed him and he won’t call again tonight. You head out through the station house to the road, hoping there is still a cab available at this hour. You walk quickly, as much to warm up as anything else. It’s freezing.

On the street, you realise there isn’t a single cab. No-one daft enough to still be out unnecessarily on a night like this. You sigh, pulling your coat around yourself tightly and turn towards home. As you pass under the first street lamp a car pulls up beside you. You step back from the road cautiously. The driver leans across the car and opens the door. “Come on, get in.” You immediately recognise the voice as Tommy’s.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, climbing into the car gratefully.

Tommy reaches behind him and pulls a travel rug from the backseat, spreading it over your lap. “I told you I’d be here on the eighth.” He says brushing his gloved fingers along your jaw.

“I wasn’t sure.” You say quietly. “How did you know I’d be here?”

“You didn’t answer your phone. So I went to the paper and they told me you were on a story in Sheffield. When you still weren’t home at eight I came looking for you.”

“Were you waiting?” You ask nervously. You swallow hard. Waiting was against the rules.

You catch the soft smile on Tommy’s face in the flash of his lighter as he brings it to the tip of his cigarette. “Yes.”

You slide across the seat, head bowed not meeting his eyes. “I’m sorry for keeping you waiting, Sir.”

Tommy’s fingers lift your chin. “There’s no need to apologise. You don’t control the weather, and I should have called to confirm.” He says calmly, pressing his lips to yours. “I had hoped to surprise you for your birthday.” He continues. You can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face. “Did you think I’d forget, little one?” He teases his hand gripping the back of your neck.

You shake your head, not meeting his eye. “No.” You whisper.

Tommy’s fingers tighten in your hair “Don’t lie, you know I can tell.” He says tipping your head to look at him.

“Not, forget,” you begin “just that you had no reason to.” You explain, reaching out and running your hand over his chest.

Tommy places his free hand over yours. “Do you think I don’t care about you?” His gaze softens as he waits for your answer, you remain mute unable to give voice to your desperate hope that he did or to risk that hope being dashed for good. “You think because I discipline you I don’t care?” He asks again. Again you’re silent. “Hm.” He says turning away from you and starting the car. Tommy’s hands never leaving the wheel, yours never leaving your lap. Both your gazes fixed on the road. You drive in silence to your house.

As the car comes to a stop in front of your house you can barely breathe, a feeling of impending doom that he finds you too needy and will leave. “We’re not going to a hotel?” You ask, trying to keep your voice even.

“No,” Tommy says definitively. “Maybe tomorrow.” He adds as an afterthought.

Your heart drops and you begin to slide across the car to the door. “Goodnight. Thank you for the lift home.” You say climbing out of the car.

Tommy follows you to your front door, as it opens he catches your arm “I do care.” He says evenly, pulling you back towards him gently. “They are just games, a way of expressing ourselves, to feel good.” He takes your face in his hands, his thumbs caress your cheeks. “Does it make you feel good?” He asks holding you so you can’t look away.

“Yes.” You acknowledge.

“Good.” He kisses you, lips soft against yours, none of the usual urgency or dominance. “Because I do care. It’s important to me that you feel good.” You can hear the church clock chiming midnight. Your birthday. His arms wrap around your waist, hands gently holding your ass as he carries you through the doorway knocking the door with his heel to close it. “Let me show you.”


End file.
